


Breaking Free

by Celebrimbor_Of_Eregion



Series: Angsty Silvergifting (and Other Angsty Celebrimbor Things) [4]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Tyelpë dies but it's good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-06 17:53:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16837501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celebrimbor_Of_Eregion/pseuds/Celebrimbor_Of_Eregion
Summary: A ficlet where Tyelpë commits suicide, Namo protects his soul from being dragged back, and he receives the biggest freaking hug from Aulë.





	Breaking Free

Tyelpë tried to breathe, but it was so, so painful. With an arrow in his side, every small breath felt like he was being branded with hot iron.

“I am. Losing. My patience,” Sauron stated, his voice hammering the words. As if he ever had any patience. “Tell me where they are, or by Morgoth I will invent something else.”

He would not speak even if he wanted. It was too painful.

“Tyelpë, don’t be silly,” the Dark Lord’s voice softened.

Don’t listen - don’t listen - don’t listen, Tyelpë, you know this well by now, this is where the lies begin. Do not trust a single word that comes out of that rotten mouth.

“Look at yourself, Tyelpë,” he all but purred. “You’re so broken and tired. Do you remember how gorgeous your hair used to be?” Sauron leaned in to pick up a strand of his long hair, and Tyelpë realized with horror that it was no longer black. It was white. “We’ll fix all that, darling boy,” Sauron reassured. “It will be alright, my sweet Tyelpë. I just need those rings of yours. You tell me where they are, and we’ll take that arrow out. It will heal, I promise.”

No. No, no, no. Nothing will ever heal. Not his heart - and, at this point, even his body probably will not either. He no longer entertained these hopes - that was the first stage. The next one was pride. He would make Finwë proud. He would be worthy of Fëanor’s legacy. He would be as strong as Fingolfin. Soon, that was gone too. After that, Tyelpë held on to the memory of his friends and family who he had to protect, but the memory was sweet and happy, and nothing sweet and happy lasted long in this place. What was left now was spite. His Noldorin stubbornness was the only thing that kept him going. No, I will not tell you where the rings are, JUST BECAUSE I CAN, now what are you going to do?

His strength was running out. Another arrow did not make things better.

“That’s what you get,” Sauron hissed. “You want one more?”

Absent-mindedly, Tyelpë scanned the archer with his gaze, and… Merciful Valar. The orc was TIRED. He had been here, guarding Tyelpë, for HOURS. Surely his reaction could be a little slower than usual…

This was the only chance. The only way out of this was to the realm of Lord Mandos, and Tyelpë knew it very well. His mind was racing now, quick, comparing opportunities, calculating consequences like in the best days of Ost-in-Edhil, not for construction and trade now but for his own death.

Think, Tyelpë. THINK. That shackle around his left wrist, the one that was attached to the wall a little carelessly, was now loosened due to his careful, stealthy work. If he makes a mistake, the chance will be forever lost. Sauron will make sure everything is checked ten times, and he will stay in this kingdom of horror for who knows how much longer. He cannot, he cannot, he cannot.

Sauron leaves him no time to think. “Shoot him,” he drops lazily and waves his hand. The orc draws the bow.

Please, lord Aulë. Please, please, PLEASE, if you can hear me, if the plead of a humble Noldorin smith means anything to you, please, let this erudamned shackle move far enough. Please, lord Namo, take me into your embrace. I’m ready. I’ve never been readier.

He barely even realized how soon that happened. Slight sting in his left wrist, burn in his chest, Sauron’s terrifying growl…

He followed the light, light, finally, but long black fingers followed him, swirling around his waist, trapping his wrists, wrapping around his ankles. No, no, no. Please, no. He saw a figure in front of him, pale face, white robes. The figure tried to combat the fingers, but they took over, dragging Tyelpë back to that nightmare. Oh, stars!..

Another figure, a black one, much taller, emerged in front of him. “You are threspassing, Mairon,” the figure roared. “This is MY kingdom. Be gone!”

The fingers untangled and slipped back into the darkness. Tyelpë was free. Free, free!

“My lord Namo…” he whispered and attempted to bow. Suddenly, there was a hall around them, a bright and ornate one, and not at all the dreadful place he had imagined so many times.

The black figure grew smaller in size, acquiring the usual proportions, and the Lord of Mandos removed his hood. “Welcome, Tyelpërinquar. It is my duty to…”

“Oh, my boy!” a loud voice interrupted him, and Tyelpë found himself wrapped into a warmest embrace. Lord Aulë!

“Aulë,” Namo’s voice sounded even, but he sure was irritated, “I have work to do.”

“My small son,” Aulë sobbed, not paying any attention to his fellow Vala, “I know you’re distressed, but it will pass, I promise, Fëanaro was very distressed at first too… It will be fine.”

Tyelpë smiled, for the first time in months. Over Aulë’s shoulder, he could see a familiar figure. Fëanor. A smiling woman next to him… Miriel?

He closed his eyes and sighed. His part is over now, and he will rest. Then, he will be happy. Not in spite, not for his people, not for his family and friends. For himself.


End file.
